


Let Me, Let Me

by raregloves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Mycroft/Jim, I have Mycroft call Jim 'Moriarty' because I can't imagine him actually saying 'Jim', If you are bothered by any of the above don't read, Implied Incest, Incest Play, M/M, Roleplay, Sex on a table, consent is an issue in this fic!!! but is eventually explicitly given, dubious consent/mildly dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregloves/pseuds/raregloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty has uncovered the deepest secret of Mycroft Holmes. The result? Fucking on a table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me, Let Me

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this: rj-abacura.tumblr.com/post/86953883072/jim-once-turned-up-to-one-of-his-recreational

It was evening. Mycroft was arranging a pile of documents on his desk so that they sat perfectly parallel to each other. They were in strict order: Upmost Importance, Negotiate, Delay, Deny, Unworthy of Serious Contemplation.

He hummed to himself as he worked. Anthea had left for the day and he would be alone for at least another five minutes. These moments of peace were rare and he cherished them.

No whining from his cronies at the Yard, no unplanned terrorist attacks, no political aberrations or embarrassments. Mycroft loosened his tie and after a momentary hesitation unlocked his desk drawer. 

Beside his spare laptop sat a beautifully made cinnamon roll. Normally he wouldn’t indulge. Yet he felt he could today: he felt lucky, powerful. People were doing as he wanted. He would see Moriarty in just a few minutes. He’d lost two pounds anyway. He could afford himself a treat every now and again. 

He sat on top of his desk (another rare luxury) and ate the roll right from his hands. Crumbs fell onto his trousers and Mycroft frowned before brushing them away with sticky fingers. 

Normally he wouldn’t meet Moriarty in his private office. They would normally find a hotel far from the city center, or else go to a private home that Mycroft had arranged earlier. Moriarty had been curiously keen to meet here, though, and after making the place secure Mycroft had eventually agreed.

He finished his roll and sucked sugar from his fingertips. As he did so he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching his door. Mycroft felt his heart jump slightly in anticipation.

The door opened and for one blank, awful moment Mycroft was caught.

Jim was wearing a Belstaff coat that was shockingly familiar right down to the red buttonholes. His neck was covered by a blue scarf that did not entirely hide the tightness of his shirt. Worst of all, however, was how his hair was tousled into something like curls. Dark curls against the fairness of his skin.

‘Oh,’ Mycroft said. ‘How crude.’ 

Moriarty smiled slowly, unfazed. 

‘A half-second hesitation,’ he said. ‘Don’t think I don’t know how to push your buttons.’ 

‘I thought I didn’t have any?’ Mycroft asked, sounding as uninterested he could.

‘Oh, you have at least one,’ Moriarty drawled. ‘And I think I’ve just pushed it.’

Mycroft kept his face impassive as his stomach seethed. What on earth had he done to give himself away? He raked his brain and found nothing. Never had he said Sherlocks name in a moment of lust, never had he spoken of Sherlock in a way that he shouldn’t have.

He’d been careful for almost all of his adult life. So careful that even Sherlock himself had never suspected the awful, hot want that sometimes rose in his older brother at the sight of him.

Even during that awful (wonderful) day in Buckingham Palace Sherlock had not realized-

‘Curious,’ Mycroft said, ‘what the mind of a madman will invent. I wonder what part of your twisted psyche decided that I wanted a brother I can’t spend ten minutes with?’ 

Mycroft suddenly wished he was sitting safely behind his desk. To move now would be to give himself away, yet he felt keenly exposed with no solid barrier between himself and Moriarty. All feelings of peace and contentment had fled. 

‘So what you actually want to know is: how did I work it out?’

Moriarty walked forwards and Mycroft cursed inwardly. He was perfectly imitating Sherlocks habitual swagger, the arrogant tilt of the head that had so often infuriated him. Mycroft felt his cock twitch, but Moriarty didn’t seem to notice. 

‘It was easy,’ he said softly. ‘Because you wanted me, and the only other person in the whole world who’s like me is your baby brother. You’ve known him longer. You’ve seen him at his most vulnerable, his most powerful. Nobody is immune to how he looks, how good a fuck he’d be. You worry about him more than anybody. Think about him more than anybody- even more than John does. Yet you’re not really comfortable around him, are you? No. You think end up thinking about those Christmases at home. Sherlock sneaking into your room on Christmas Eve and deducing the gifts with you. Fucking him with your hand over his mouth, Mummy the next room over-’ 

_‘Stop,’_ Mycroft gasped. The mention of his mother had snapped him out of the aroused, hypnotized sate that Moriarty had lured him into. ‘You mustn’t- I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh Mycroft,’ Moriarty said, and pressed his hand right against Mycrofts growing erection. Mycroft shoved his hand away forcefully and Moriarty smiled as though he were laughing. 

Mycroft walked around behind his desk and sat, desperate to keep his arousal as hidden as possible. Denial was still an option. He could claim he had merely been aroused by the sound of his voice, by his proximity, not by what he had actually been saying, been implying-

‘Fear doesn’t suit you,’ Moriarty said, leaning against his desk in the same way Sherlock would’ve. ‘I mean think of it like this- Sherlock hasn’t found out. It’s just me. Your dirty little secret can be my dirty little secret. Two’s company.’

‘You’re mistaken,’ Mycroft said, though he knew his voice was hoarse. ‘You have twisted and fabricated reality so that it suits your personal fantasies. I have no interest in your-’

Moriarty raised his eyebrow in a way so reminiscent of Sherlock that his voice caught in his throat. His trousers, already tightening, had become truly uncomfortable.

‘Ah,’ Moriarty said. ‘Yes, I thought so.’ 

There was no point in continued denial, Mycroft realized. Moriarty knew, had known weeks ago, and had decided to put his knowledge to terrible use. He could achieve nothing by lying now.

‘What can I do to convince you that this is a bad idea?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I can place you in isolation again. I would. I can hand you back to my interrogators any time I want.’

Moriarty just shook his head, making his slight curls bounce attractively. He put both his hands onto Mycrofts desk, leaning forwards towards him. Mycrofts eyes flicked swiftly towards his straining buttons then back again.

‘You still don’t understand,’ Moriarty said. ‘I _know._ I know and nothing you do is ever, _ever_ going to stop me from knowing. Locking me up won’t fix it. Torture won’t fix it. You’d have to kill me to stop me from knowing.’

‘I think that goes without saying,’ Mycroft snapped. ‘What do you want, then?’

‘Isn’t that obvious?’ Moriarty said, and Mycroft jumped where he sat, because that was Sherlocks voice. ‘I want. You. To fuck. Me.’ 

‘Don’t do that,’ Mycroft chocked out. ‘Don’t- talk like him.’

‘Why not? You like it. The more I do it the harder you get.’

Mycroft tried to cross his legs and found that he was too hard to do so comfortably. He refused to look Moriarty in the eye, instead focusing on the corner of his table.

Undaunted, Moriarty walked around the desk until he was standing directly in Mycrofts line of sight. Mycroft threw him a disgusted look, realizing moments too late it was the one he used when Sherlock was annoying him.

With Mycrofts eyes still on him, Jim tugged the scarf away from his neck, pulling it through his hands in the same way Mycroft had seen Sherlock do countless times before. Mycroft realized he was holding his breath.

Moriarty dropped to his knees. ‘Come on, Mycroft,’ he said in Sherlocks voice. ‘You _know_ the laws hardly count when it’s us. And it’s not like you’ll get me pregnant. It’s obvious you want to.’

‘Sh-’ Mycroft caught himself just in time. ‘Surely you know I won’t be roped into this.’

‘We’re both consulting adults. We’re both better than ordinary people. It doesn’t matter if we’re brothers.’

‘That is- this is ridiculous-’

‘I like it better this way,’ Sherlock- _no,_ it was Moriarty, said. ‘I like that it’s forbidden. I want you to fuck me.’

‘Oh god,’ Mycroft said. Sherlock put his hands on his knees. Some part of his brain knew it wasn’t Sherlock, knew it was still Moriarty on his knees. It wasn’t actually his brothers tongue, pressing against Sherlocks full lower lip. Moriarty was a beautiful mimic, though, and he wanted to believe it more than he’d wanted anything for years. 

‘Let me,’ Sherlock said. ‘I want to.’

Mycroft nodded. 

At once Sherlocks fingers were at his belt, pulling it off him with practiced ease. Mycroft closed his eyes. Moriarty couldn’t give himself Sherlocks distinctive hands and he didn’t want to ruin the illusion now that he was allowing himself to enjoy it.

He sighed as Sherlocks mouth pressed wetly as his cock through the already damp cotton of his pants. His hand went to the back of Sherlocks hair. The curls were not as thick as he’d like them, but the contented sigh between his legs was indistinguishable from one Sherlock might’ve made.

‘Want your cock in me,’ Sherlock murmured. ‘It’s bigger than mine.’

‘I’m taller,’ Mycroft reminded him. ‘And smarter.’

‘But I’ve got the better mouth.’

Sherlock tugged down the top of his pants so that the tip of his cock was exposed. At once Sherlocks tongue was pressed against it, rubbing slowly up the slit. Mycroft shuddered, unable to stop his hips from lifting in response.

Both of Sherlocks hands were rubbing up and down his thighs now. Mycroft let his head relax against the back of his chair. Slowly, he opened his eyes. With his head lowered and the Belstaff jacket fanning out onto the floor behind him, Moriarty was a shockingly good double for Sherlock. 

‘You’re leaking,’ Sherlock said. ‘You won’t last long like this.’ 

‘How do you want me?’

‘I’ll lie on the table,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to do your back in, do we?’ 

Mycroft didn’t comment. He forced both his shoes off without undoing his laces and pushed his trousers down. Once he could kick them off he did, not even caring as they landed in the corner in a crumpled heap.

‘Yes,’ Sherlock said. ‘Hurry up.’

His equally expensive trousers were discarded carelessly as well. Sherlock clambered up onto the table. The surface, recently polished, reflected his body like a mirror.

Mycroft grabbed his folders and placed them on the ground, moving swiftly. He didn’t even stop to make sure they were all in order. Sherlock was laying back on the table now, rubbing his hands over his prick and letting out small, delicious moans.

‘Not without me,’ Mycroft said, climbing on top of him. He lowered his head over Sherlocks and kissed the reply out of his mouth. It was an intoxicating feeling, having this forbidden body so warm and responsive under his.

‘Lube?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Jacket pocket,’ breathed Sherlock.

‘You’re going to get come all over your Belstaff,’ Mycroft said.

‘Don’t care,’ Sherlock said, and the words cut deep into him. How many times had he heard Sherlock say them, after all? But never like this. Never like this. ‘Hurry.’

Mycroft slicked his finger and pressed it against the twitching muscle of Sherlocks hole. Sherlock sighed and wriggled his hips. It was a blatant display of want, of the desire to be fucked. He obliged by pushing his finger in with one firm movement. 

‘Yes,’ Sherlock hissed. ‘More, more. I can take it, I want it.’

He worked in another finger. Sherlocks hips twitched constantly. Both his hands were gripping Mycrofts hips, his fingernails biting into exposed skin.  Mycroft felt as if he should be shaking but his hands were entirely steady.

‘Yeah…’ Sherlock sighed. ‘Please.’

Mycroft twisted his fingers in his brother, curving them enough to hit that sweet spot inside him. He wanted to see him undone, to see him moaning his name until even that was beyond him. 

He rubbed the pad of his middle finger over Sherlocks prostate and Sherlocks entire body jerked as if an electrical current had been run through him. 

‘Oh Myc,’ he chocked out. ‘Oh my god, Myc.’ 

It was too much. Mycroft pulled his fingers free and rubbed them over his aching cock, lubing himself up. There wasn’t enough, though- he fumbled the bottle for a moment, fingers clumsy as he collected a palm of lube. Sherlocks eyes were fixed on him as he fisted his own cock till it was slippery. 

He lined himself up. Sherlock was panting beneath him, flat white stomach rising and falling swiftly. ‘Leg up,’ he said, and Sherlock obligingly lifted a leg so that his ankle rested against the back of Mycrofts thigh. 

Mycroft inhaled. He watched the dark head of his cock slowly open Sherlocks body. Pressing in until it was entirely swallowed up. ‘Oh god, Myc,’ Sherlock said, his voice wrecked. ‘Don’t tease me, please don’t tease me now.’

‘No,’ Mycroft said. ‘No.’ 

He slid in, unrelenting, knowing Sherlock would feel the stretch and relishing that knowledge. His cock felt white-hot with pleasure, his mind overwhelmed for the first time in his life. He had never experienced sex like this before. 

‘Fuck me, Myc, oh god,’ Sherlock said, his words reaching Mycorft through a kind of haze. ‘Move, please.’ 

He pulled back just enough to give himself some leverage, braced himself on the table, and began to fuck Sherlock in earnest. His hips snapped forwards with savage strength. The table shook beneath them as Sherlock moaned, throwing his head back to expose his bobbing Adams apple.

‘Sherlock, my Sherlock,’ Mycroft managed. ‘I’ve wanted- for so long-’ 

‘I know. I know.’ 

Sherlock readjusted both his legs and wrapped them around Mycrofts hips, pulling their bodies closer together, giving Mycroft a deeper angle. His hands and knees were aching but Mycroft barely knew it. 

All he knew was the feeling of Sherlock crying out his name as though it would save him. The feeling of Sherlocks arse clenching around him, his heels digging into his backside and urging him deeper. 

‘Oh Myc, oh Myc, oh Myc,’ Sherlock cried out.

Mycroft felt his balls tightening. A furnace was opening up in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t going to last.

‘Oh Myc, oh my b-big brother-’

Mycroft came, his mind utterly overwhelmed. Heat exploded upwards and outwards from his cock and stomach, igniting every part of him. He no longer had a brain, only this physical body, pushing into Sherlock, coming into Sherlock until every last drop was wrung out of him. His hands ached.

He slumped sideways, his elbow hitting the table with a thump. The pain was almost sharp enough to bring him back to reality. The Belstaff was soiled. Lube and come were leaking onto it, just as he’d predicted.

Mycroft closed his eyes after observing that. The sharp knock to his elbow had started to bring his mind online and he didn’t want that. Not yet. The body beside him could still be Sherlock, those exhausted exhales could still belong to his brother. Every muscle in his body ached in the pleasant way he usually associated with a successful session at the gym.

He opened his eyes. Moriarty had come drying on his stomach. Some part of Mycroft realized this was significant- previous experience had taught him that Moriarty needed a spare hand as well as a good fucking to come. Was this the secret to a hands-free result then?

‘You’re thinking again,’ Moriarty said. ‘I can tell.’ 

‘Good for you.’ He was too tired now to think of something sharp to say.

‘Wasn’t that amazing though?’ Moriarty pressed. ‘Wasn’t that the hottest thing you’ve ever done? Do admit, Mycroft.’

‘You’ve ruined that coat,’ Mycroft said. ‘A terrible waste, after having gone to all the trouble of having it altered for you.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Moriarty said. ‘I’ll get another one done.’ 

‘Already planning on a repeat performance? You’ll never have the element of surprise on your side again.’

‘You think?’ Moriarty sounded amused. He raised himself up on one arm and leaned over to kiss the center of Mycrofts chest. ‘Don’t worry, _Myc_. I’ve still got plenty of surprises up my sleeve.’

**Author's Note:**

> You can send me a prompt on my tumblr- I love rare pair fic :)
> 
> raregloves.tumblr.com


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